


Mass Effect: Light

by MizDirected



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-25 23:31:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13223529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizDirected/pseuds/MizDirected
Summary: A handful of years after the war, Jack thinks she is content living in the darkness.For Lou988.  Happy Christmas, I hope you enjoy this!And of course, all italicized lyrics to Happy New Years belong to Abba!





	Mass Effect: Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lou988](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lou988/gifts).



**Author's Note:** Apologies for the few small sex scenes, but I totally blame Jack. I sort of can't see these two coming together for the long term in any other way. So, yep, there's a little graphic sex. *blush*

**I**

Every year, the galaxy paused for a single day. One day a year everyone slapped each other on the back and congratulated themselves for surviving, for finding another year's worth of reasons to fight back against the darkness … another year's worth of moments that kept their dim candles flickering.

Jack always paused in return, but just long enough to give her old friend a grateful nod. Her memories still carried daggers, the blades rusty but sharp enough to slide between her ribs and slice her up if she gave them a chance. She never gave them a chance.

That year, on the Feast of the Martyrs, she shoved a thick roast beef sandwich and a massive bottle of beer in next to her knives and sidearm before leaving her one-room hole tucked deep in the station's infrastructure. Happily, security guards didn't take time off to observe the deification of dead friends. Even more happily, her employers paid triple time. Vacation? What vacation? Of course she'd work so others could take the time off. Besides, she intended to get herself a real life one day. Those didn't come cheap.

Jack loved her shift. She left for work when most everyone else ended their day, then headed home in the silence before dawn. No one she passed at those hours wanted to talk or ask stupid questions about her role in the war. People saw the tats, intelligently closed their mouths, and moved on.

She didn't fool herself and credit her scary demeanour for her solitude. No, she knew better. She owed her peace and quiet to her past proximity to Shepard. The war and her kids had programmed the public to see her as St. Jack the Bitchy, a combination of awe and terror keeping people away. It might piss her off if it didn't buy her so much personal space.

Anyway, one afternoon a few years after the war, she awoke to a message on her omnitool. When she saw the sender, her heart leaped, but the message's contents slowed her pulse to a snail's crawl. Shepard dead, turned into the new Catalyst. The message took years to arrive thanks to her sending it from just outside the event horizon of a black hole. Jack's surrogate mother/big sister ended the war by commanding all the reapers into the belly of the closest black hole.

It took Jack three hours to close the message, take a deep breath, and settle the news into place amidst the rest of the burdens piled on her shoulders. That message formed all she needed to know about the martyrdom of Shepard. No feasts or memorials or speeches required.

Jack shook off the memory as she stopped by the massive fountain at the heart of the presidium and stared up at the Monument of the Martyrs. Shepard's likeness reached out from the top of striving masses, her hand grasping at the stars, her features lost to the dark. Jack hadn't even passed by the statue since the day the crew stood side by side to witness the hypocritical galaxy saying goodbye to its saviour. She and Tali held Garrus on his feet, their hands through his elbows, and allowed him to blame his weakness on his still-healing battle damage.

"So why am I here tonight, Shepard?" she whispered into the void. Her eyes focused on the gleaming jewel of Earth sitting dead center between the ward arms. "You've been gone a long time, and I've never needed to come here to know you're following me around, looming over me like some god-damned vulture."

Why choose that night to deviate from the well-worn path home? Years of solitary silence sat lightly, broken up by friends bound to her by unbreakable ties. No loneliness or longing weighed her down, so why?

Jack sighed. Well, since the memorial stood right there, offering a perfect view of Earth, and it was the Feast of the Martyrs, she might as well share a sandwich and a brew with the old crew. She thumped down a couple of steps and sat, a graphic curse exploding as she leaped back up. "Holy fuck!" Did they refrigerate the stairs? After spreading out her jacket to protect her backside, she sat back down and dove into her pack.

She saved all her real food for one excellent meal a day, using all the dried and processed bars for breakfast and lunch. Supper, she splurged. Real roast beef from real Earth cattle, real bread, tomatoes, cucumbers, and mayo from the greenhouses. If anything could make her believe in a benevolent god, the crops coming up from Earth would go a long way toward her glory hallelujah moment. In the early days, she'd stared at her vat spawned, keeper-goo-turned-protein-bars and wondered if she shouldn't have just gone down with Shepard.

Cracking open her beer, she held it aloft. "Here's to us and the long ass road home." The carbonation burned the back of her throat in the most delicious way. Once nearly a quarter of it warmed her belly, Jack unwrapped her monstrous sandwich. "And here's to cows having the good fucking sense to run away from reapers." She toasted the statue again then took a jaw-stretching bite.

"Jack?" A voice called out of the darkness of the powered-down Citadel. Jack knew the voice, its accent familiar even through a heavy inflection of surprise.

For a moment, Jack considered jumping up and taking off, disappearing into the darkness. The voice wasn't one she missed, nor one she'd ever cared for. Truly, running amounted to the smartest option, but there she sat. Maybe a trickle of loneliness ran through the heavy bedrock of her self-sufficiency. Or maybe she just wanted a chance to be a complete bitch. It had been a very long time since she stretched her bitch muscles.

Instead, she merely looked toward the voice. As expected, Miranda Lawson, the ice princess herself, walked out of the shadows. Gone were the perfect hair and leather catsuits, replaced by a tight ponytail and a well-cut but practical suit.

Neither spoke as Miranda approached, Jack's stare locked onto the ex-Cerberus diva's face.

"I didn't think you observed the feast," Miranda said, descending the stairs to stand at the base of the statue.

"I don't." Jack took another bite of her sandwich.

Miranda lifted a hand, pressing it against the bronze for a moment before turning away. "I walk by now and again." She nodded toward a rebuilt block of buildings. "I work up here."

Jack grunted in reply. She knew all about Miranda's role as an information broker and procurement specialist.

After a second, Miranda nodded toward the stairs. "May I sit?"

Meeting Lawson's gaze, Jack chuffed. "I don't know. Does Boardroom Barbie have a shut the hell up setting?" She moved over a little when Miranda sat, then turned her attention back to her supper.

Ten minutes, then fifteen, passed in complete silence. Impressed, Jack took a long swig from her beer, then offered it to her companion. Miranda drank, a long, not-very-ladylike sigh following. Huh, maybe the war had ground down most of Ice Princess Barbie's points and edges.

A moment later, Jack offered Lawson the other half of her sandwich. The pair ate in silence. Once the sandwich and beer vanished, both stood without breaking the quiet. Jack watched Lawson walk away, then bent to gather up her things. When she straightened, she heard the cap from the beer bottle hit the ground and roll.

Squinting against the dark, she looked around, half-heartedly trying to do her part to minimize litter, but … ahhhh, who gave a fuck? She stuffed everything into her pack and headed for the wards. needing to escape before daylight intruded upon the peaceful dark.

**II**

Second contact came on New Year's Eve, a handful of months post-Martyrs. The messenger envelope consisted of a single micro disk containing a song quite appropriately named, 'Happy New Year' by a band that Jack felt pretty sure no one had listened to in two centuries. Abba? Seriously? Who the hell …?

She dove back into the envelope for the attached note:

" _Shepard forced me to listen to this ridiculous song over and over for three hours when things got so damned dark before the Omega IV relay. I needed it again this year—sometimes I find it impossible that she's been gone eight years—and thought you might as well. Miri"_

Miri? Things hadn't ended so informally that night by the memorial, had they? Who knew that sharing a sandwich led to personal nicknames? Miri. Huh, maybe a thaw endangered the cheerleader's genetically freeze-dried heart.

Eight years? She needed to call Garrus, invite him to go out and get hammered. He never dealt with the anniversary-type days very well.

Jack slipped the disk into her laptop and opened the sound file, music filling the small space. It coloured the dark, painting it in long-forgotten, vibrant hues. For that moment, she felt as though an outreached hand would be grasped by a small, calloused one. That hand's impossibly strong grip had pulled her up out of every mess she'd landed in after she escaped Purgatory.

The lyrics strangled her bitter laugh before it escaped her throat. " _Here we are, me and you, feeling lost and feeling blue. The party is over and the morning seems so grey … so unlike yesterday. May we all have our hopes, our will to try … If we don't we might as well lay down and die … You and I."_

Jack closed her eyes, and flopped back into her pillows, letting the song play so many loops that she lost count. It was a ridiculous song, but somehow, she couldn't lift her hand to stop it. How long had it been since she last spoke to Shepard … since she felt connected to anyone or anything? If she did the math, she could figure it out, but the years all bled into each other since the Crucible fired.

" _Sometimes I see how the brave new world arrives, and I see how it thrives in the ashes of our lives …"_

Rolling over, Jack reached across her bed to open her night stand drawer. She withdrew a small, ornate box half-filled with odds and ends: micro-disks and the kitten barrette from Rodriquez's hair—all they'd found of the girl—along with bits of polished glass and a trinket Jack's mother gave her some long forgotten Christmas ago. She dropped the Happy New Year disk on top of the other keepsakes, then replaced the box and leaped to her feet. Time to get to work.

The envelope followed her off the bed, hitting the floor with a suspicious, not-at-all envelope-ish clatter. Jack picked it up and looked inside.

"What the fuck?" Trembling fingers reached inside, pulling out a bottle cap, the blue kangaroo winking up at her. No way. No fucking way. It couldn't be the one she'd dropped months ago. It had to be Cheerleader Barbie's idea of a joke.

Jack lifted the lid of her relic box, dropped the cap inside. Whatever.

Still, the Citadel didn't seem as dark as she hurried to work.

**III**

Jack meant to say no to Tali's invitation. With an entire, empty Citadel under them, Tali and Kal'Reegar had been spawning like krogan. How many name day celebrations could anyone be expected to go to?

"I didn't expect to see you here." Lawson stepped around the bar. She held out a shot glass filled with amber liquor so strong it was making a break for freedom, climbing the glass. "I see Garrus didn't come in for it. Smart  _torin_."

"All this stuff just keeps slapping Garrus with Shepard's absence." Jack took the shot and tossed it back. It burned all the way down, pulling a long sigh of relief up her throat. "I didn't expect to see you here either." She slammed the glass down on the counter. "Desperate for company, Workaholic Barbie?" Slapping the granite, she nodded toward the bottle. "Or is that Bartender Barbie, here for the free drinks?" Shrugging, Jack lifted a hip up onto one of the tall stools. "Either way, keep them coming. Drunk is the only way to survive these things."

A small herd of tiny quarians, humans, and asari raced past, tussling like wild varren pups. Too bad Wrex hadn't come and brought his brood. She could toss those balls of insanity around for days. They bounced. Tiny quarians didn't bounce. At all. Just … no.

Miranda tugged Jack's attention back to the bar as she opened the bar fridge and pulled out two beers. She twisted the caps off and passed one to Jack. "Agreed, but we'll have to lower the alcohol per swallow ratio or we'll end up passed out under the bar." She slid one of the caps across the granite, that damned kangaroo staring up at Jack.

"We meet again, my old enemy," she whispered under her breath. Seriously though, did everyone just drink the same, fucking liquor Shepard drank? Had the galaxy stopped stocking anything other than Hopper's Famous Roo Brew, or was the entire universe just insane and obsessed?

Jack took a long draught. That was bitchy, even for her bitchiest side. More than likely, Tali just didn't have any other frame of reference. She picked up the cap and shoved it into her pocket.

Miranda sighed and bitchy-toasted Jack with her bottle, clacking the necks together. "I'll even let you sit here and drink with me, but for god's sake, Pathetic-Almost-Middle-Aged-and-Still-Rebelling Barbie, you need to shut the fuck up."

"Yeah, yeah, Fairy Princess Barbie, how about we just drink and stare at one another with the usual loathing." Jack downed another quarter bottle.

Miranda laughed, the sound bitter and abrupt. "I'd admire your determination to stick with the classics, if they hadn't worn thin a half-decade ago."

Jack chuffed and lifted her bottle, a sliver of daylight slicing through the blinds to dance within the amber liquid. Huh.

**IV**

Two hours and at least six 1250 ml bottles later, Jack shoved Miranda up against a wall in a presidium back alley. Although she didn't recall how their silent drinking turned into a fingertip stroking the inside of a wrist, a casual hand brushing long, black waves behind a delicate ear, Jack vaguely recalled their intention to take the evening somewhere more private. Although neither spoke about leaving behind all their bonded and content friends, they'd made independent goodbyes and left the party, meeting on the street.

Where had they been going? Miranda's place? No, a room in a nearby hotel more than likely. They must have discussed it, but then softness and heat of the other woman's body against hers conspired with the alcohol to wipe Jack's memory.

Miranda's hands slid beneath Jack's leather jacket, her palms warm and deliciously, unexpectedly calloused. Every last question disappeared in the wake of those hands, Incinerated by the soft heat of Miranda's lips. Sweet fuck, why hadn't they spent the last decade hate-fucking? So many wasted years and endorphins.

Fingers burrowing into the silky waves of Miranda's hair, Jack returned the woman's kisses. Their embrace turned into a scuffle, first one then the other pressed into the wall, both vying for dominance. Jack pinned Miranda to the poly-crete, one tattooed hand on the barbie's throat.

"Stop." Jack growled a little as she dragged the tip of her tongue along the underside of Miranda's jaw. "Submit for once in your fucking impossibly uptight, control-freak life."

Miranda's body softened under Jack's hand, the woman's eyes closing, her head tipping back, baring her neck.

Jack's lips locked onto that offered flesh, her pussy pulsing so hard her toes curled and her eyes rolled back in her head. Dear god, they needed to get to a room and fast, because they had maybe three minutes before clothes began to fall, and she sucked Miranda's nipples all the way into the back of her throat, public space and oncoming daylight or not.

**V**

Their first weekend disappeared in moments, the months that followed racing by so quickly they left Jack breathless. She didn't remember the last time she allowed someone to become the sweetest of addictions. Hell, she barely recalled the touch of anything but her own hand, let alone the way a lovers eyes seared through flesh and bone, lodging in spirit as they locked onto hers, taking delight in giving her pleasure.

Miranda dragged all those memories back, exquisite in their pain but renewed as they tangled through the beauty of the present: Knees pressed to the floor, arms clinging to Jack's hips, lips wrapped around Jack's clit; or arched over their mattress, fists pulling the sheets from their bed as she came, Miranda … well, no one had ever woven themselves so intrinsically through the fabric of Jack's being.

She didn't understand most of her reactions. Instead of grabbing her clothes and running when she awoke, terror slamming her heart into her ribs, she turned to the woman sleeping next to her, burrowing into her warmth. Neither one said anything about those moments—they both had them—but … well, silence was their thing. Shutting the fuck up made it work.

And then, to Jack's surprise and more than a little fear, a half-year or so after Tali's party, the sex stepped back, giving way to moments when they laid draped over one another, sweat dripping along their curves, their minds and souls mingling through words … words she harboured no desire to silence. Those strange but precious moments grew in length and frequency, taking place across breakfast tables and on couches while they sat wrapped in one another's arms, twin kangaroos winking up at them from the coffee table.

Then, one day, when the sun rose and Miranda moved to close the blinds, Jack stopped her, wanting to watch the light play across the woman's pale skin and through the ebony waves of her hair.

**VI**

They didn't bother to discuss the need to move into a neutral shared space. Jack could no more assimilate into Miranda's apartment than the princess could abide Jack's hole in the wall. Miranda never saw that simple room, Jack feeling almost protective of both. Miranda didn't need to see how pale Jack's flame had flickered alone in that darkness.

On the other hand, she felt just as protective of the space. She'd felt no lack there, no need for more than she'd possessed, and she doubted Miranda would understand that. With such peace and passion blooming between them, the last thing she wanted to see in her lover's eyes was pity.

A fresh place for a fresh start. It made sense in the very best ways. Fuck. She sighed and set back into her unpacking. If she became some sort of romantic … dear god, she just couldn't.

Jack looked up and turned a circle. Ha! Even before they got their crates unpacked, she and Miranda had both staked out territories and created personal spaces. Only the kitchen, bathroom, and bed spoke of them both … of the oddly twisted candle they'd created over the eighteen months since two pale flames wandered into one another at Shepard's bronze feet.

Miranda fussed over the stove, grumbling at a saucepan that issued what kindness made Jack call steam. She chuckled, earning a glare from her lover. The glare slowly softened to a laugh.

"We're going to need better jobs if we're ordering take-out every night." Miranda sighed and dropped the pan in the sink.

Jack strode over and wrapped her arms around Miri's waist. "Well, we've both known from the start that you're not Homemaker Barbie." She laughed, dodging a half-hearted elbow jab.

Miranda wrapped her arms over Jack's, their grip tight and rigid. "No. Not Homemaker Barbie or Maternity Barbie, just … Genetically Designed Drone Barbie."

Jack disengaged just long enough to grab a Hopper's Famous Roo Brew from the fridge, then tugged Miranda over to the couch and eased her down into the combined embrace of cushions and arms. "Genetically Designed Drone Barbie and Psychotic Biotic Barbie," she whispered, setting the beer on the coffee table, "sounds like a disaster in the making." Jack kissed the curve of Miranda's neck, then sighed, resting her chin in the same spot.

"Maybe enough of a disaster that it manages to work?"

Jack chuckled and nodded. "Yeah, maybe."

Relaxing into the tangle of arms and warmth, Jack let out a ragged sigh. She liked it, whatever it was that had grown between them. "Fuck, Shepard would laugh her ass off … at both of us."

Strong arms tightened around her, Miranda's thick, black hair sweet and floral as its silken waves flowed around Jack's face. "Maybe," Miri whispered, the word followed by a sigh, "but Shepard was a meddler. She couldn't help herself. Would being dead stop her?" She picked up the beer and opened it with a quick twist, pressing the cap into Jack's palm before she drank.

Jack shook her head as she stared at that damned winking kangaroo. As much as she didn't believe in spiritual mumbo jumbo—and if Shepard had magical powers, she should have spent her energies on Garrus—maybe. She accepted the bottle, taking a long drink. Maybe Shepard reached out from the darkness, meddling just as surely as she had in life.

Looking out through the blinds, she squinted into the late sun.

Maybe.

**VII**

Much like their living arrangements, they didn't bother to discuss the solution to Miranda's yearning for children. The woman never said anything, but Jack caught her staring at mothers and babies far too often to miss the longing. Jack hadn't planned on birthin' no babies, but to wash away Miranda's aching sadness … what was a couple of visits to the doctor, one very awkward call to James, and nine months of progressively replacing badass with fatass?

Neither mentioned the transition as her tats twisted into some sort of fucking zebra-striped, cubist nightmare.

"Are you afraid?" Miranda asked, her entire body wrapped around Jack, one reverent hand splayed over the expansive curve of tattooed belly. "I bloody well am." She paused, kisses travelling the length of Jack's face. "We can talk about it. Or is this something we just shut the fuck up about?"

"Are you quick enough to get to the door before I do?" Jack glanced up from nuzzling the breast tucked under her jaw. She cocked an eyebrow, flicking the nipple with her tongue as she waited for an answer. "Are you strong enough to wrestle my pregnant-whale ass to the floor and sit on me until it passes?"

"Always." Miranda stroked long fingers through Jack's hair, the combing action soothing. "But … we're past that, aren't we? Past running away? Past not talking about it?"

Jack nodded, nestling into Miranda's embrace. "Yeah, I guess so. Fuck." She sighed. "And, yes, I'm scared half to death about what this little monster inside me means … how badly we could fuck it all up."

Miranda nodded and pressed her lips to Jack's brow. "Well, we know from our childhoods how to completely cock it up. That's a start. We'll just do the opposite." She sighed, wriggling in a little tighter. "Besides, if we're blaming Shepard for all of this … she has to know what she's doing, right?"

Jack nodded, not trusting her voice. Somehow they'd made everything else work over the past few years. Maybe it could all be blamed on Shepard and that damned winking kangaroo. Maybe it really could … how else could she explain lying in bed, Ice Princess Barbie wrapped around her, no idea how she got there, but no desire to be anywhere else?

Jack pressed her palm against Miranda's, their fingers weaving together as she lifted their hands into the light sneaking in around the edge of the blinds. Yeah, maybe it really could all just work out.

**VIII**

Jack woke, the waters of sleep parting gently rather than the usual ice cold waves of terror that baptised her into each new day. She reached into the space beside her, unsurprised to find it occupied only by lingering warmth. Miri always woke early to watch the sun rise over the Earth. Lifting a hand to the lamp on her side of the bed, Jack flicked it on, leaving it on the least bright setting as her eyes adjusted.

After heaving herself over onto her right side, Jack paused to breathe and rest. For a moment she considered calling out, asking for help, but then just sank back into the mattress, her angle awkward but not uncomfortable. She ran a hand over the swell of her belly, muttering a soft curse when the ornery little beast within welcomed the new day by hammering a heel into her bladder.

"Hey, you little bastard," she grumbled at her belly, "cut that out, or I promise I'll name you Sugar Blossom Lumpy Butt." Another kick drove her up onto her feet. She pulled her favourite old sweater off the end of the bed, and shrugged into it as she shuffled for the bathroom. Fighting a losing battle against the tide, she cussed as a trickle escaped to run down her legs. "Godammit it, what did I just tell you, you ornery little shit? Cut it out."

"You okay?" The soft call came from a lithe shadow standing before the front window. "And that's a good three or four credits for the swear jar."

"Yeah," Jack replied even as she shuffled, her belly weighing her down, "but I need a fricking cleanup crew."

"I'll get it." Slippered footsteps padded across the floor, diverting to the paper towel rack before following Jack to the bathroom. "It's the Feast of the Martyrs today." She crouched to wipe up the floor. "Exactly four years since we shared that sandwich and beer." Miranda stopped outside the bathroom door.

"Damn Shepard." Jack settled onto the toilet seat, letting out a long sigh of relief. "I know we've said it before, but I really feel the need to blame this on her." Frowning, she pressed the heel of her hand against her hip joint. Ow. What the …?

"Stop slamming around in there," she grumbled at her belly. "Save training for the demolition derby until you're out here."

Miri shuffled on the other side of the threshold. "Should I make our traditional roast beef sandwich and beer … well, milk for you? We can wait and go once the crowds all bugger off. Maybe Councillor Vakarian would like to join us?"

Jack nodded even as she dug her hand in deeper. Pain spread across her hips, low and tight, her entire belly tightening like twisted rawhide. Oh for fuck's sake … the kid actually intended to come out. She'd really been hoping to pawn the delivery part off on someone else.

"We're not going to have time to visit Shepard," she gasped, heaving herself onto her feet, palms braced against the vanity. "And if I was going to ask Garrus over to stare at my pussy, it wouldn't be for this." She hollered, a wordless bellow of pain followed by a soft moan of fear. "Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit."

Miri jumped up, her face frozen half way between joy and terror. "You're … I mean, we're …? oh, God …. We need …."

Jack let out a soft growl and reached out a clutching hand. "Shut the fuck up. No panicking. You're the one who's supposed to know what to do and keep me from panicking."

Miranda wrapped her fingers around Jack's, holding them tight. "Right." She stepped into Jack's side, slipping an arm around her back to help hold her on her feet. "Come on, I've got you. Your bag is packed. All we have to do is call a cab." She helped Jack down onto the couch. "I'll be right back."

Jack clutched Miranda's hand, refusing to let go.

"Hey, breathe." Miranda smiled, the expression sure, bright, and unwavering. "We've got this."

Jack nodded and reached into her sweater pocket, wrapping her hand around the small metal object within. She pulled it out, giving the kangaroo a crooked grin.

"Okay, Shepard, I get it." She looked up, watching Miranda hurry around the apartment. At some point over the past four years, she'd stopped pausing to give Shepard a quick nod. Somewhere, the memories had dropped their daggers, rusty blades replaced by that damned winking kangaroo.

She wrapped one arm around her belly, levering herself to her feet with the other, and shuffled toward the door. Outside, the sun peeked from behind the Earth, washing the Citadel in warm gold.

"Come on, Organizational OCD Barbie," she called over her shoulder and stepped out into the light. "We don't want to keep Shepard waiting."


End file.
